English translations of Romanzen und Balladen für Singstimme und Klavier (Heft 2), opus 49

Two grenadiers were returning to France,
From Russian captivity they came.
And as they crossed into German lands
They hung their heads in shame.

Both heard there the tale that they dreaded most,
That France had been conquered in war;
Defeated and shattered, that once proud host, --
And the Emperor, a free man no more.

The grenadiers both started to weep
At hearing so sad a review.
The first said, "My pain is too deep;
My old wound is burning anew!"

The other said, "The song is done;
Like you, I'd not stay alive;
But at home I have wife and son,
Who without me would not survive."

What matters son? What matters wife?
By nobler needs I set store;
Let them go beg to sustain their life!
My Emperor, a free man no more!

Promise me, brother, one request:
If at this time I should die,
Take my corpse to France for its final rest;
In France's dear earth let me lie.

The Cross of Valor, on its red band,
Over my heart you shall lay;
My musket place into my hand;
And my sword at my side display.

So shall I lie and hark in the ground,
A guardwatch, silently staying
Till once more I hear the cannon's pound
And the hoofbeats of horses neighing.

Then my Emperor'll be passing right over my grave;
Each clashing sword, a flashing reflector.
And I, fully armed, will rise up from that grave,
The Emperor's, the Emperor's protector!"

Up on the summit of the mountain
the castle stands shrouded in night;
but in the valley, lightning blazes
and bright swords clash savagely.
 
It is brothers fencing
a grim duel there, enraged with anger.
Tell me, why are brothers fighting
with sword in hand?
 
Countess Laura's sparkling eyes
ignited the brothers' strife:
both smoulder, intoxicated with love,
for the noble, lovely maid.
 
But to which of the two
does her heart lean?
No musing can decide it;
so out comes the sword - you shall decide!
 
And they fight on keenly, foolhardily,
blow upon blow cracking down.
Beware, you savage swordsmen.
Grisly illusion creeps about in the night.
 
Woe! Woe! Bloody brothers!
Woe! Woe! Bloody valley!
Both fighters fall,
each upon the other's steel.
 
Many centuries drift past,
graves cover many generations;
mournfully from the heights of the mountain
the deserted castle looks down.
 
But at night, in the depths of the valley,
something is moving secretly, wondrously:
when the twelfth hour arrives,
the pair of brothers are fighting there.

The nun stands in the garden
In the sunshine beside the roses,
Which braid a wreath for her
On the left and on the right.

Across to her from the grand hall,
Where a wedding feast is taking place,
Come the sounds of dancing and of singing;
Everyone wishes to take a turn dancing with the bride.

Lovingly embraced, she cools
Her cheeks at the window;
The nun looks over to her
And her eyes overflow with tears:

"How she glows with the radiance of a rose
Und the white wreath,
And under red roses
I, the joyless one, grow pallid."